


Don't You Ever Grow Up

by SkyEverett



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, England (Country), Gen, Historical Hetalia, United States
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyEverett/pseuds/SkyEverett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if England were to suddenly stumble across America's storage closet?  Would he be emotionally prepared for what lies inside?  Inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Never Grow Up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Ever Grow Up

        **America**  
        
           “Dude, I’m so psyched that you decided to spend the night at my place!” America exclaimed as his sleek black Ferrari F430 sped down the busy streets of New York City.  England fought the gigantic urge to roll down the window to escape the overwhelmingly loud music and the jarring bass—it was practically giving him a back massage.  But he knew, from personal experience, that the island of Manhattan was nothing like his own; it was built to fit America’s personality perfectly.    
        
           “For the love of God, America…stop that infernal music, at least.”  America looked over at his trans-Atlantic neighbor and saw that he had practically vanished into the seat; his hands were over his ears and he really looked like he was going to be sick.    
        
           “Oh!  Oh, crap…” America took his hands off the wheel as he tried to find the radio switch.  As his gloved hands fumbled with the buttons on the control panel, the car began to swerve into oncoming traffic.   
        
           “HANDS ON THE WHEEL!” yelled England, leaning across America to right the car.  
        
           “Oh,  _crap!”_  yelled America, grasping the wheel and unintentionally shoving England away.  The car jerked a little more, but America was finally able to get it under control.  England pushed a button on the control panel and the car’s stuffy interior was plunged headlong into silence.  America relaxed as England straightened up and gave him the evil eye, which was probably Brit-speak for “I’m going to kill you now that I’ve relaxed and you’ve gotten us out of mortal peril".  
        
           “Sorry,” America mumbled.  
        
           Apparently England took that as his cue.  “You  _idiot,”_  he hissed.  “You could have gotten us  _killed!”_    
        
           “Ha-ha-ha!  A stupid car crash can’t kill me!  I’m the HERO!”  This was more or less America’s answer for all of England’s berating worries.  This was—and America knew this perfectly well—the only way that England would stop because he would think that there was nothing getting through America’s thick head.  While that insult hurt a lot, America had grown way too tired of England constantly trying to act like a wise old man.  
        
           “Ugh…I can never get through to that brain of yours, can I?”  
        
           “Nope~!  And, uh, car crashes can’t kill any of us!”  
        
           “That’s still not a reason to be  _reckless_ …!”  
        
           “Geez, you talk waaaay too much, Britland!”  
        
            _“England_  or  _Britain._   Pick one, don’t blend them together!”  
        
           “Ha-ha-ha!  Brit, your face is bright red!  You’re such a tsundere!”  
        
           “YOU—!”  
        
           “Aaaaaand look!  There’s my house!  Welcome to the mansion of American pride!”  
        
           England fell silent, but America could practically see smoke coming out of his ears as he pulled into the paved driveway to his wonderful mansion.  Since England had come the last time, he had put in so many new additions.  Any American could find their way through it easy-peasy.  Okay, probably not  _every_  American…  
        
           “Alright, step right in, Iggy!” exclaimed America, locking the car with one click of his keys.  
        
            _“Don’t call me Iggy!”_  
        
      

* * *

  
        
       **England**  
        
           “So…just pick a movie and sit down,” continued America as they walked into his family room.  “M’sorry to keep ya waiting, but I’ve got a problem with my states.  I’ll just take care of that and then we can watch the movie.”  
        
           “Whichever film I pick, we’ll watch?”  
        
           “Whatever one.  I actually like movies.  Just no horror themes.”  And without another word, America walked down one of the many halls.  The house became strangely silent without him.  
        
           Without anyone to be gentlemanly to, England sank into the plushness of the leather sofa in front of America’s nearly wall-sized television.  A shelf filled with DVDs stood up against the wall, but with England’s acute eyesight, he could see every title clearly.  High above even America’s reach was the entire Dr. Who revival series.  England smirked as he touched down on one of America’s darkest secrets: he was a Whovian.  A few rows down, next to two Robert Downey Jr. films, sat the BBC Sherlock seasons.  All three.  And, right next to that, was every James Bond film England had ever laid eyes on.  England stifled a laugh.  America had insisted time and time again that his TV viewings were better.  _What a hypocrite!  I can’t wait to nag him about this new development!_   Finally his gaze fell upon  _The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies._   Of course America would have acquired the last Hobbit movie before it was released to the public.  He had already announced that he liked the idea of a pre-Middle Earth, though he did not say why.   _He’s just too in love with the Lord of the Rings to resist Middle Earth again._   So, with an experienced amount of telekinesis, he pulled the DVD from its snug place on the shelf and laid it on the armrest of the sofa.    
        
           America still hadn’t gotten back yet, so England decided to explore the house.  He began to walk down one corridor and caught sight of a shiny silver plaque where it began:  
        
            _This way to:  Swimming Pool/Water Slide, Kitchen, Library/Gaming Room, Basement, Attic_  
        
            _Loft,_  corrected England.   _I swear, it’s a miracle he can still understand the Queen’s English…_  
        
           After continuing down that hallway for a good minute, England was starting to wonder if half this house was just made of corridors.   _It’s like an suspense film,_  he thought.   _Any moment now something is going to grab me from behind._  
        
           However, after he passed the library, he saw a smaller, less extravagant door.  There wasn’t a plaque on it, only an old sign with  _“Storage”_  written on it in barely readable scrawl.  Curious as to why this closet wasn’t mentioned on the plaque earlier, he tried the knob, saw that it was unlocked, and went inside…  
        
           …and immediately choked on the thick coating of dust that covered everything.  “Bloody… _hell!”_  coughed England.  “Hasn’t he ever heard of  _dusting?!”_   But after his vision cleared, England saw that it was actually filled with…well…junk.  Cracked mirrors, faded paintings, military uniforms, and everything else that looked pre-World-Wars filled the room, which was actually a lot bigger than it looked from the outside.  The only thing with the most amount of colour was a ragged Confederate flag, barely recognizable after years of collecting cobwebs.   _I can understand why he wanted that tucked away,_  thought England.   _I myself thought that the Confederacy was a tricky fellow…but why keep it?  Why not just throw it away?_   But England knew the answer before he took his next breath: because the Confederacy had been like a brother to him.  They had even made a blood pact as he had died so America could have a part of his brother close to him.  Believe it or not, America did seem to care about lost family.  The next most noticeable thing was a pair of aviator goggles, cracked and worn from years of obvious use, but there all the same.  After examining the straps for a few seconds, though, England concluded that they couldn’t have fit around America’s big head, which meant they must have belonged to Amelia Earhart, the first woman to attempt a flight around the world.   _So,_  England thought.   _He must have broken the rule too.  He would have only kept these in here if Ms. Earhart meant something special to him._   Finally, in the dustiest corner of the room, there was a cube-shaped box, one about as big as a small armchair.  With difficulty, England pried the box open, and blinked at the sudden burst of colour in the otherwise dull room.  
        
           A navy blue cloak-like uniform greeted him, folded in creases so organized it made England wonder if he wasn’t in America’s closet, but someone else’s.  He grabbed it by its two white-crossed sashes and tossed it aside, reaching in for the next thing, and his hand closed around something wooden.  He was filled with a curious sensation as he pulled it out…  
        
           A rifle.  
        
           A long, ragged cut ran through the wood on the side of it, one that England remembered making himself.  As soon as the memory flashed through his mind, he blinked and nearly dropped the rifle.   _Ugh, not this again._   He blindly shoved this aside and received the biggest shock yet as he touched something rather small and pulled it from the box.    
        
           A wooden soldier.  A red ribbon was tied neatly around its almost nonexistent neck.  
        
           “Oh,  _Alfred…”_   Memories of America playing with those soldiers flooded his vision.  His smile one of exhilaration, his eyes glittering in excitement, his laugh happy and innocent, unaware of the dark times ahead of him…  
        
            _“Hey, Engwand, what’s that?”  
        
                  “It’s a present.  I noticed you play in the woods a lot, so I decided to make you a few toys for when it gets too cold to play outside.”    
             
         _           _Young Alfred’s eyes lit up as he opened the small wooden box, revealing 8 little wooden soldiers.  He dropped the soldiers and threw himself into the surprised Englishman’s arms.  “Thank you Engwand!  It’s the best gift ever!” He immediately grabbed the box and ran upstairs to play with his new present.  
        
           _         _“Oh, Alfred, don’t you ever grow up,” England said, listening to America’s cries of delight from the loft.  “Just stay this little, for me.  Such a simple, innocent life you live…”  
        
      - - -  
        
           “Are you sure?”  
        
           “Yes, Alfred, there are no monsters under your bed tonight.”  
        
           “Tonight?  Does that mean there are monsters sometimes?”  
        
           “Sometimes, but they’re not scary.  They’re only certain types of creatures from the faerie land.”  
        
           “Will I ever see a dragon, England?”  
        
           “Maybe you will.  The next time I see Wales, I’ll ask.  Now go to sleep, little one.”  
        
           America obediently closed his eyes and rested his hand on England’s.  “Stay with me until I fall asleep, please?”  
        
           “Of course, America.  Sweet dreams.”  
        
           “Uh-huh.”  England leaned against his armchair, waiting for America to quiet himself.  
        
           “Hey, England?”  
        
           “What is it now, America?”  
        
           “You’ll never leave me, right?”  
        
           England leaned forward so quickly that America’s eyelashes fluttered.  “I will never let anyone hurt you or break your heart, understand me?  I will never desert you.  You will never be alone.”  
        
           “Thanks, England.”  
        
           "You'll never be scarred, never sad.   **I won't allow it."**   But America couldn't hear him anymore, his eyelids were fluttering as he dreamed..._  
        
        Before England could snuff the recollections away, his hands began to shake and his eyes filled with tears.  “Godd*mmit, Alfred… _why did you have to grow up so fast?”_  
        
           “Ha, bumped into the door again; I am such a clutz.”  
        
           England acted on instinct and squeezed himself between an old wardrobe and the wall, using the blanket that was half-covering it to hide himself just as America entered the room.  “Huh?  What the heck’s this stuff doing out?”  
        
           To England’s sheer horror, America made his way over to the box England was just looking through.  But instead of piling everything back inside, he began to search through it, and eventually pulled out the small, ruffled nightgown, still as white and soft as the clouds in the sky.  The very sight of it almost drove England into another round of reminiscing.  
        
           “Oh gosh.  How long has it been since I wore this little thing?”  
        
            _More than 300 years,_  thought England.  
        
           “Life was so carefree back then…just me and Mattie doing whatever we wanted…and…and England would make us tarts and scones when we got back…”  
        
           With a start, England realized that America was crying, actually crying, with giant tears falling onto the nightgown and everything.  England fought an urge he had not had since the Revolutionary War: to go to America, take him in his arms, and tell him that everything was going to be all right.  
        
           With a sigh, America began to put his things back into his box.  Soon only one little wooden soldier remained.  He stared at it for the longest time…and then his mouth turned up into a smile—a true, genuine smile, not one of his fake coverups.  And in that moment, England saw the young boy that America had once been, who treasured those soldiers above all his other possessions…because they were the first gift he had ever been given.  
        
           “Wish I’d never grown up,” whispered America.  England inhaled slightly.  They were only inches from each other; America could look up at any minute and see England hiding amongst his dying keepsakes…  
        
           But instead, America tucked the soldier into his jacket and walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets, leaving England alone with the left-overs of America’s long-gone youth.  
        
      

* * *

  
        
           “Hey, Brit, you were gone for some time.”  
        
           “I was trying to make some sense of this house.  It’s far too big for my taste.”  
        
           “Ha-ha-ha!  In America, we live by ‘the bigger, the better!’”  
        
           “Yes, well, I picked a film, aren’t we going to watch it?”  
        
            _“Battle of the Five Armies?_   Y’know, I’ve had this one for a while, but I never actually watched it.”  
        
           “Maybe you were waiting for the right moment.”  
        
           “Yeah, that must be it.”  America slid the disc into the video player and watched as the menu faded into view.  “Well, let’s enjoy Middle Earth while we can, huh?”  
        
           “Let’s.”  
        
           And if America noticed the thin layer of dust lining England’s sweater vest any time that night, he didn’t care to mention it.


End file.
